


Gone

by TerresDeBrume



Series: Portfolio [4]
Category: Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Episode 12: Confession, Episode Tag, Gen, Grief/Mourning, POV Second Person, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:26:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: Honestly, how can you even be expected to keep going now?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my Digimon Flash Fic Week and a prompt from @munchkinmarauder

 

The digimons—your friends, your partners, your siblings all at once—walk into the swirling mass of purple and red and gold, holding onto one another until the very last second. There’s a hiss of electricity—one large blue spark—and it’s over.

 

Gabumon is gone.

 

You want your brain to provide more than that—wish you could remember all of the stupid, deep, hilarious, _mundane_ things you did together— but he’s gone and gone and gone and the word rattles around in your chest, echoes in the pit of your stomach like a badly tuned bell, the sound filling your eyes, your throat, your ears with a dissonance you’re not sure what to make of.

 

“Patamon was the first infected among them,” Takeru says next to you.

 

It takes all the effort in the world and the emptiness in his voice to turn your head toward him, tear your eyes away from where Gabumon vanished—gone, gone, gone, gone—to stare at your little brother and the wide-open eyes you hate to see on him.

(Gabumon is gone.)

 

“I couldn’t say anything,” Takeru continues, “because I was afraid—”

 

His voice trails off, lost to the void left where his digimon should be, and your throat hurts when you try to swallow—Gabumon is gone—struggle to find something to say until the words burn at your eyes like tears of fire ready to set the world ablaze. The others, next to you, suffer still. They cry, and scream, and sob, but Gabumon is gone and so much of you left with him the slightest move could destroy you—you ignore them, and reach for Takeru instead, small and lost and so very close to the child he was it almost makes everything worse.

 

(But Gabumon is gone, and you can’t imagine anything worse than that.)

 

Takeru’s shoulder is small under your hand, birdlike in a way it hasn’t been since he turned ten, and the barest pressure is enough to have him topple into your chest, tears dampening the front of your shirt as you clench your fingers in the dip between his shoulder blades and the stickiness of sweat feels like blood against your knuckles.

 

“I’m sorry,” Takeru croaks into your sternum, “so sorry, I—”

 

You hold him tighter—press your lips to his head like it’s going to make a difference, and let him cry all the tears that won’t come to you because Gabumon—Gabumon is—

 

“I’m—I’m so—sorry,” Takeru sobs again, and you hug him harder and you nod.

 

The words echo in your chest, thin and lonely in the gaping wound between your ribs and you want to talk, to say something that’ll make things better, but Patamon is gone and there’s nothing you can say to make any of it hurt even remotely less.

You hold onto your little brother, put your arms around him like it’ll keep the world away for another minute, and you hope it’s going to be enough.

 

(It’ll never be enough.)


End file.
